Traditions
by EntropyCSI
Summary: Just a little Valentine's Day fic. JS.


Title:  Traditions

Author:  Entropy

Summary:  Just a little Valentine fic.  J/S.

Disclaimer:  They're not mine, pity.

A/N:  Thanks as always to A for beta-ing.  Otherwise, this was just a little random fic that came into my brain at 11 o'clock Saturday night.  Thanks to all reviews on Inevitable – y'all are too kind.

The loud clinking of glasses and silverware was a distraction for Samantha – one for which she was grateful.  Martin sat across from her, quietly moving the food that just arrived with his fork.  With her mind focused on the noises, she had been unaware of Martin's nervousness which had outwardly shown in the tapping of his feet.

The dinner date with Martin had been what she least was expecting for Valentine's Day.  It all began after shift – like most things in their relationship, but in all honesty, she only saw him as a brother and a confidant.  It was similar to most recent events, in that logic did not register as a factor in her decision.

---

His hands rubbed anxiously at his sides, as he was eagerly hoping the moisture would instantaneously disappear.  Martin had many nervous habits, and this was one of them.

"Samantha, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment."  He wiped his palms once more.

"Sure, what's up?"

Her cool and quiet disposition did nothing to ease his mind.  Not too long ago he had been in the same position – asking her to go for drinks, and she had refused.  It was only after a terrible day at work had she accepted his invitation.  He sent a quiet prayer hoping that his luck had changed for the better.

"I was, well, I was wondering if you had any plans for this Saturday?"

"You mean Valentine's?"  Her head tilted slightly to the side as if she was forming a mental calendar in her head.

"Yes, I was hoping you would like to join me for dinner."

He had been wishing that she wouldn't have realized Saturday's relevance until later on in the week, but he should have known better.  Every woman, single or not, thinks about Valentine's at least once in the beginning of the year.

"That would be nice," she simply said and with that, headed out of the building.

---

At first she was relieved that she had plans to take her mind off Jack, but now, she was stuck in a highly awkward position.  Getting up and bolting for the doors wasn't an option, but for some reason, was becoming more appealing in her mind.

When she was getting ready earlier in the evening, she had no idea what to wear.  She had picked out a simple black spaghetti strapped dress that would work in both a casual or formal setting.  Unfortunately, Martin had chosen one of the most elegant restaurants in the city.

It would have taken months, if not a year, to get reservations for such a place.  She averted her thoughts, unwilling to imagine what that really meant.

She took her eyes off the very wealthy socialites at the next table to glance at Martin.  Even with her eyes on him, he didn't raise his head.  It was at that moment she decided she needed to leave.

"Martin, I think I need to go."

It was slight, but his eyes dimmed at her words.  "It's okay, go ahead.  I'm sorry I'm not very good company tonight," he said with a small shake of his head.  His response had been in all honesty, not in self pity.

"Thanks."  She started to slip on the overcoat until realizing that it was his.

"Go on.  You should take it – it's getting pretty cold.  Just bring it in on Monday."

Martin knew there was no reason to force anything between them if there wasn't anything all ready there.  He silently waited for the check.

She smiled graciously for both the coat and the prospect of heading to her apartment.  As she rounded the table, she gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek.  With that, she was back in the cool New York City air.

---

Samantha quickly hurried back to her apartment; her frozen feet wouldn't last much longer.  She let out an audible sigh as she turned her key in the lock.

The roses Martin had given her sat on the table to her right, and she gently placed his coat next to them.  She hoped she hadn't been selfish in taking the date, but it really didn't matter now.  Her bath tub was calling her name.

She turned on the faucet and added bath salts.  Tonight hadn't been about Martin being there; it had been about Jack's absence in her life.  It was the first year out of the past several that he hadn't been waiting for her in either love or the friendship that came before it.

The bath would ease her body and mind.  She turned off the faucet, and quietly sunk into the warm water.  It was tempting to stay there all night, but she still had one more thing planned.  She wouldn't have to leave anytime soon which gave her plenty of time to turn into a prune.

Her head slipped under the water, and when she reappeared, her blurry vision spotted her journal next to the tub.  She must have left it after her last bath.  Her mother used to laugh at her when she would find Samantha scribbling something down while she was in the tub.  Samantha just thought of it as one of her many quirks.

This journal had been special though – Jack had given it to her the first Valentine's she spent with the FBI.  Quickly drying her hands, she opened it up to the inscription.

_Samantha,_

_  This job is difficult, and the sense of loss never goes away, but the hope and joy in finding someone greatly overpowers that.  You have the heart for this line of work, and I couldn't imagine the team without you.  Thank you and happy Valentine's Day._

_                        -Jack_

She had read the inscription so many times that the color was fading from the edges of the page, but the words still managed to stay in perfect order.  It didn't matter, though; she had committed the message to memory.

The tradition had started with the journal.  Every Valentine's, a new, but meaningful, gift would be given to her.

Once their friendship had progressed, they would meet and embrace each other.  It was only in private where they would allow themselves to kiss, but this year would obviously be different.

She had no idea whether they were even going to meet, but she couldn't stay at home.  The curiosity would eat at her all night.

She quickly threw on some comfortable clothes to make the moderate far walk in.  Her hair was pulled into a bun, no need for her to waste time drying it.

There meeting place was sentimental; every stepping stone in their relationship had started there.  They had their small lunch break talks there in the beginning – which then involved plans of secret rendezvous.  Now it had been branded as the place of their break up – once a place of silent 'I love you's was now the bench that he told her it was over.

To Samantha, it would always remain 'their bench' in her mind.  As she neared it, she began to remember all that had taken place – the fear of falling in love with the boss, the sense of vertigo when he told her he felt the same way, the loss when he told her he was going back to his family.

She sat down, and quickly glanced around.  Most people had opted for a nice dinner out or a quiet dinner at home, so it was relatively serene.  

Fear set in as she realized how late she really was.  Maybe he had already left or he never planned on meeting her.

In her haste to stand back up, her hand grasped something smooth on the bench beside her.

With trembling hands, she quickly opened the letter.

_Samantha,_

_  I did not forget you.  I can rarely forget you no matter how hard I try, and I want to let you know that you still mean so much to me.  I couldn't fall out of love with you if I tried.  This note is my gift to you this year, but next year, I'll bring you more than a piece of paper.  Why mess with tradition?_

_                                    -Jack_

Samantha wiped the lone tear from her cheek, and began to head back home.  She could feel Jack watching her from the other side of the street, and her breath caught as she gave him a smile.  Who knew what the next year would bring, but she did know where she would be every Valentine's Day.  After all, like Jack said, why mess with tradition?


End file.
